Danica wondered, but she said nothing. It wasn’t often her mother came in alone for lunch—it wasn’t often she ever had her mother to herself—and she didn’t want anything to mar their time together. Shuttling between Connecticut and Washington, not to mention flying off on numerous trips each year, her parents weren’t easily accessible.
“I’m so glad you called. This is a treat. Somehow talking on the phone just isn’t the same.” It never was, though she wondered if her mother agreed. “How’s Daddy? You said he was going to Vancouver?”
“He left yesterday morning, just before I called you. It was a last-minute trip; he’s filling in for a committee member who took sick. He sends his love, by the way. I told him I was seeing you when he called last night.”
“Didn’t you want to go with him?”
“I felt—” Eleanor took a breath and let it out with a sheepish grin “—like staying home. It must be the years creeping up. When your father’s away, things are quieter. I find I need that from time to time.”
Strange, Danica thought, how her mother enjoyed that quiet, while she found it terrifying. It wasn’t that she craved her parents’ political whirl of a life; that was the last thing she wanted, and besides, she was busy enough socially. No, what she wanted…what she wanted was the noise of a happy home. What frightened her was the thought of a lifetime filled with the silence that too often entombed the Beacon Hill town house she shared with Blake.
She refocused her thoughts on her mother with a hint of concern and good cause. “You’re feeling all right, aren’t you?”
“Oh, yes. Fine. The doctors’ reports are wonderful.” Four years earlier Eleanor had had a hysterectomy when a uterine tumor had been detected. Between the surgery and subsequent radiation treatments, it appeared she was cured. “It’s just that I get tired of living out of a suitcase. And since your father’s going to be at meetings most of the time…”
Danica thought of Blake and wondered how her mother managed to avoid the frustration she felt. It was difficult when a man’s work was his mistress, as Blake’s seemed to be. “Daddy doesn’t mind the meetings, does he?”
“What do you think?” Eleanor smiled. “He thrives on it. In fact, he’s that much more relaxed. He doesn’t have to run for another four years.” William Marshall was the senior senator from Connecticut, a twenty-one-year veteran of the United States Congress. “He’s as active as ever, but the pressure isn’t as intense. When he’s up for reelection himself, it’s a matter of life or death.”
She spoke matter-of-factly and Danica understood, knowing that to her father winning was a matter of life and death. What she didn’t understand was how her mother could stand it, but Eleanor seemed fully acclimated to that way of thinking.
Not so Danica. More than once over the years she had wanted to rebel. First she hadn’t had the courage; later she’d seen the futility of it. It would have been a losing battle, and very simply, she couldn’t afford another loss. More than anything, she wanted her father’s approval, and to win that, she had to follow his rules.
“Campaigning for someone else,” Eleanor continued, oblivious to Danica’s thoughts, “well, it’s easier. By the way, he’s come out for Claveling. You know that, don’t you?”
Danica knew that her father had been torn between two men, both announced candidates for his party’s presidential nomination. With the first of the primaries over, it appeared that Claveling was the one more likely to succeed. “So I read. It’s been all over the papers.”
Eleanor made a sound that Danica might have called a snort if it had been anyone else making it in any other place. But her mother was impeccably controlled, and the Ritz was exquisitely proper. Therefore there had been no snort. It had been a nasal moan, Danica decided, and reflected the same tempered displeasure that Eleanor proceeded to express.
“Don’t mention the papers to me.”
“Has something happened?”
“Oh, just a small article in the local paper criticizing your father for a speech he gave last week. It didn’t bother him, but I got annoyed. The newspapers are always looking for something to attack. If they can’t cry income tax evasion or conflict of interest, they pick on petty little things. The powerful are always targets. If the powerful are well-to-do, so much the worse. You should remember that, Danica.”
“Me? I’m not in the limelight like you and Daddy.”
“You may be. After all, Blake is standing right beside your father in support of Claveling.”
It was the first Danica had heard about it, and she wasn’t sure whether to be shocked, angry or downright depressed. The minute it took for the waiter to set their drinks before them gave her a chance to compose herself.
“I hadn’t realized it was definite,” she finally managed. When push came to shove, she was embarrassed to admit to her mother that her husband hadn’t communicated with her on so important a matter. Blake had to know she wouldn’t be thrilled. He had to know that she craved something in life other than parties and rallies and press conferences.
“It’s definite. They’ve spent hours discussing it on the phone.”
“Daddy and Blake?” Again Danica hadn’t known, though she knew how close the two men were. They had been friends since long before Danica and Blake had married. Their relationship had always been one of contemporaries, rather than father and son-in-law.
“Your husband has influential contacts in the business world, my dear,” Eleanor announced quite unnecessarily, with a hint of excitement that only increased Danica’s dismay. “He’s the kind of man who inspires confidence, the kind who can coax people to contribute to a worthy cause. Jason Claveling is a worthy cause. If he wins the nomination, he’ll be elected.”
“Are you sure?”
“I’m sure. And it never hurts to be on the good side of the president of the United States.”
Ethical issues aside, Danica couldn’t argue with that. Political pull did wonders, particularly when it came from the top. “I’m surprised Daddy’s never gone for it.”
“For the presidency?” Eleanor laughed softly and grew more pensive. “No. The risk is too great, I think. Over the years your father has made his share of enemies. Any strong figure is bound to, and William has been known to be unbending at times. But he plays to win. He needs to be in full control, and that’s not possible in a national election. Besides—” she perked up “—he’s enjoying seniority in the Senate.”
Danica nodded, still trying to assimilate the fact of Blake’s impending political involvement. She should have seen it coming, but she hadn’t. And, for whatever his reasons, Blake hadn’t seen fit to enlighten her.
“So,” she sighed after having ordered a bowl of summer squash soup and a crabmeat salad, “when does the hoopla begin?”
“Soon, I’d imagine. You don’t look wild about the idea.”
Danica made a wavering gesture. “We have plenty of evenings planned as it is. This means there’ll be that many more.”
“Are there other things you’d rather be doing?” Eleanor asked in surprise. When she was Danica’s age, she was entranced by every aspect of her husband’s nascent political career.
“There might be.” She was thinking of whimsical things like going to a movie, driving with Blake down to Provincetown for the day or up to Kennebunkport, for that matter. Unfortunately, her mother reached another conclusion.
“Darling,” she began, eyes widening in excitement, “are you—”
Danica smiled. “No, Mom. Not yet.”
“But you’d like to be.”
“We’ve discussed this before. You know I’d like to be.”
“Is there a problem?”
“Of course not!”
“Don’t get defensive, darling,” Eleanor said softly. “I was just asking. After all, you’ve been married for eight years—”
“Which is nothing, when you stop to think how young I was way back then. I don’t think I would have made a particularly good mother a
t twenty or twenty-one or twenty-two. Goodness, you make it sound as though I’m running out of time. I’m only twenty-eight. Nowadays women have babies when they’re forty.”
“True, but when you’re forty, Blake will be fifty-five, which is exactly the age your father is now, and look at you.”
“Daddy was young when he married. There’s a difference. If Blake’s first concern had been a family, he’d probably have married a lot earlier.”
“Still, I’d think he wouldn’t want to wait too long. And besides, think of your father. He’s ready to have a grandchild.”
“So you’ve told me before,” Danica managed in a dry tone. She didn’t like this discussion, never had, never would. She wanted to have a baby very badly. She wanted to make Blake a father, to make William a grandfather, to be a mother herself. Unfortunately, it was easier said than done.
“Will you oblige him?”
“I hope so.”
“Are you sure there’s no problem?”
If there was a problem, it was that Blake was either out of town or tired, and there was no way Danica was going to discuss that with her mother. Sad as it was, she didn’t feel close enough.
“I’m sure,” she said, intent on changing the subject. “And as to what I’d rather be doing than going to political fundraisers, I’d rather be in Maine with Blake. You should see the house. It’s exciting.”
As they ate, Danica filled her mother in on the details of the remodeling work. It was a fairly safe topic until Eleanor raised the issue of physically getting to Maine and back.
“I don’t like your driving there alone.”
“Blake will be with me from now on. At least,” she thought aloud, “he said he would be, but if the Claveling campaign takes much of his time—”
“It may. You know that. Which means you’ll be making the trip by yourself.”
Danica wasn’t thrilled with that idea, but her discouragement had nothing to do with the drive. “It’s not much of a trip…an hour and a half, give or take for traffic.”
“That’s an hour and a half in a small car that could easily be mashed between two trucks on the highway. If Blake isn’t there, Marcus should drive you.”
“What in the world would Marcus do up there while I’m checking over all those little details?”
“He can wait. That’s his job. Better still, he can familiarize himself with the area so he’ll be comfortable when he and his wife go up.”
“They won’t be going.” When her mother stopped midbite to stare at her, Danica explained. “The house is for Blake and me. An escape from the city. A place where we can be alone together. I don’t see the need for having one in help there, let alone two. We can drive ourselves wherever we want to go, and there shouldn’t be any massive cleaning to do, since we won’t be entertaining there.”
“What about food?”
“I can cook, Mother.”
“I know you can, but wouldn’t it be easier if Mrs. Hannah did it?”
Danica’s mind was set. She had yielded on many things in her life. This was one on which she was determined to hold fast. “No. The Hannahs will watch things in Boston while Blake and I are in Maine.” She slanted her mother a grin. “You never can tell. With a little practice, I might just emerge as a competitor to Julia Child. Daddy would love that. You’ll both come up when the house is done, won’t you?”
Before Eleanor had a chance to answer, a friend of Danica’s approached to say a fast hello. Danica graciously made the introductions, then sat back and marveled at the skillful way her mother made conversation. It was as though Eleanor truly cared about this new acquaintance.
“Well?” Danica said softly when they were alone once more.
“She’s lovely, darling. You serve on the hospital board with her?”
“Yes. But I wasn’t asking about that. You and Daddy will come up to Maine to visit, won’t you?” It meant a lot to her; she was hoping to impress her parents with the house, its location and her own abilities to play hostess.
“I thought you weren’t entertaining there.”
“Family’s different.”
Eleanor sighed. “Of course we’ll come. But I wish you wouldn’t be so difficult about things. I still don’t like the idea of your driving up there yourself.”
“Listen to you, Mother,” Danica chided. “You’d think I was sixteen.”
“I know you’re not. But I do worry. At least you could take the Mercedes. It’s bigger and heavier than the coupe.”
“But I love the Audi, and I get so little chance to drive around here. Boston drivers are awful. By comparison, Kennebunkport is a dream.” She took a deep breath and gazed down at the people walking briskly along Arlington Street. “There’s a sense of freedom you get when you drive by yourself on the open road.”
“You sound about sixteen. But you never craved freedom then.”
Danica grew pensive. “Didn’t you ever wonder whether I did things behind your back?”
“What kinds of things?”
“Smoke. Drink. Go places I shouldn’t.”
“You were always well supervised.”
“Not every minute. The housemother at the dorm didn’t know everything that happened.”
“At college I wouldn’t expect—”
“I’m not talking about college. I’m talking about boarding school. Even before I left to live at Armand’s, there was plenty going on.”
“Danica, you were thirteen years old then!”
“Still, I knew what was happening. Some of the girls smuggled stuff into the dorm. Either that or they’d sneak out, and they made it—and back—without being caught. Come on, Mother,” she chided at the look of dismay on Eleanor’s face, “you had to know that kind of thing happened.”
“I suppose, but—” she was slowly shaking her head “—you didn’t do any of that.” She had effectively answered Danica’s question.
Danica smiled. “No. I was too much of a coward.”
“A coward? No, no, darling. You simply set higher standards for yourself.”
“Daddy set higher standards for me, you mean.” She rolled her eyes. “I was so innocent that if I’d tried the smallest thing, I’d surely have been caught, and if I’d ever been caught, Daddy never would have forgiven me.” Her smile faded. “It was bad enough giving up tennis. He doesn’t ever mention that now, does he?”
“He goes to matches whenever he can. You know he’s always loved the game. But, no, he doesn’t sit there fantasizing that it’s you on the court. He accepts things when he has no choice.”
Danica idly pushed a forkful of crabmeat around her plate. “I’m sorry that it didn’t work out. He would have been proud if I’d been able to make it.”
“Are you sorry it didn’t work out?”
“In terms of the game, no. I just didn’t possess that all-fire determination it took to be number one, at least not in that field. And besides,” she sighed, “it’s over and done. Maybe I’m like Daddy in that respect. I’ve accepted the fact that I’ll never make it to center court at Wimbledon.…Strange to be talking this way ten years after the fact.”
Not at all strange, she realized, though sad. There were many things she had never discussed with her mother, because Eleanor Marshall was first and foremost William Marshall’s wife. That Eleanor had a daughter—that William had a daughter—had always seemed incidental.
“By the way,” Eleanor went on, “I understand that your friend Reggie was given a run for her money at the Virginia Slims tournament in New York.”
“How did you know that?”
“Your father was reading an article about young Aaron, uh, Aaron—”
“Krickstein.”
“Thank you, darling. Anyway, he was reading that article and the other headline caught my eye. Have you heard from her lately?”
“We had lunch together last Saturday.”
“You did! But I thought she was going on to Florida with the rest of the tour.”
“They do have time between tournaments, Mom. Reggie was visiting someone here. Actually, she was thinking of skipping Florida altogether.”
“Can she do that? Doesn’t she have a commitment to the sponsors?”
“Commitments only go so far. If a player is injured, she doesn’t play. In Reggie’s case, she’s mentally exhausted. One season finished and the next began on its heels, and she needs a break.”
“From what I read I can understand it. She won by the skin of her teeth. That kind of thing has to be exhausting, both physically and mentally.” Eleanor arched a brow. “Maybe while she’s here she’ll get you to play.”
“She has other things on her mind.”
“But I’m sure she’d love to play with you.”
“I’m not playing. You know that.”
“Mmmm, and I feel badly. You were good, darling. There was no reason why you had to give it up completely just because you couldn’t be number one.”
“You make me sound juvenile.”
“Well, aren’t you carrying it a little too far?”
“No.”
“Darling, you were the fourth ranked player in this country—in this country—when you were sixteen. That was a feat that took quite some doing. And now nothing. How long has it been since you held a racket in your hand?”
Danica met her mother’s gaze. “The last time I held a racket was on Saturday, June 2nd, three days before my eighteenth birthday.”
“You see?” Eleanor exclaimed. “It’s been ten years! Isn’t that a little silly?”
“Not to me. I’d had it with tennis.”
“Your shoulder was injured.”
“It was much more than that,” Danica argued softly. “We discussed it at the time, Mother—Armand and I, you and Daddy and Armand. I wasn’t happy. I didn’t want to play. My shoulder would have healed enough to continue, but I just wasn’t interested.” She counted to five. She was sure that if she and her mother were to get into a similar discussion in a week or a month, Eleanor would once again blame the demise of her career on that shoulder injury. To be forced out of competition by a physical injury was somehow all right; after all, one couldn’t help that. To willingly withdraw—because of lack of drive, no less—was unacceptable. “Why the talk of tennis all of a sudden?”
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